The Young Musician ; Or, Fighting His Way eBook

After the train was a mile or two on its way he felt
in his pocket for the wallet, meaning to regale himself
with a sight of its contents—­now, as he
considered, all his own.

Thrusting his hand into his pocket, it met—­vacancy.

Pale with excitement, he continued his search, extending
it to all his other pockets. But the treasure
had disappeared!

Professor Riccabocca was panic-stricken. He could
hardly suppress a groan.

A good woman sitting opposite, judging from his pallor
that he was ill, leaned over and asked, in a tone
of sympathy:

“Are you took sick?”

“No, ma’am,” answered the professor
sharply.

“You look as if you was goin’ to have
a fit,” continued the sympathizing woman.
“Jest take some chamomile tea the first chance
you get. It’s the sovereignest thing I know
of—­”

“Will chamomile tea bring back a lost pocket-book?”
demanded the professor sharply.

“Oh, Lor’! you don’t say you lost
your money?”

“Yes, I do!” said Riccabocca, glaring
at her.

“Oh, dear! do you think there’s pickpockets
in the car?” asked the old lady nervously.

“Very likely,” answered the professor
tragically.

The good woman kept her hand in her pocket all the
rest of the way, eyeing all her fellow passengers
sharply.

But the professor guessed the truth. He had lost
his wallet when he stumbled in the field. He
was in a fever of impatience to return and hunt for
it. Instead of going on to Chambersburg, he got
out at the next station—­five miles from
Knoxville—­and walked back on the railroad-track.
So it happened that the telegram did no good.

The professor walked back to the hotel across the
fields, hunting diligently, but saw nothing of the
lost wallet. He entered the hotel, footsore,
weary, and despondent. The first person he saw
was Philip, sitting tranquilly in the office.

“Did you just come down from your room?”
asked our hero coolly.

“I am a most unfortunate man!” sighed
Riccabocca, sinking into a seat.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve lost all our money.”

“I am glad you say ‘our money.’
I began to think you considered it all yours.
Didn’t I see you on the train?”

“I had a bad headache,” stammered the
professor, “and I didn’t know what I was
doing.”

“Does riding in the cars benefit your head?”

Professor Riccabocca looked confused.

“The wallet was found,” said Philip, not
wishing to keep him any longer in suspense.

“Where is it?” asked the professor eagerly.

“Mr. Perry will give it to you. I have
taken out my share of the money, and Mr. Gates has
received the amount of his bill. It would have
been better for you to attend to these matters yourself
like an honest man.”

Professor Riccabocca was so overjoyed to have back
his own money that he made no fuss about Philip’s
proceedings. Indeed, his own intended dishonesty
was so apparent that it would have required even more
assurance than he possessed to make a protest.